Page 118 of Beneath the Hood

I come face-to-face with my boss, Mr. Donahue. He looks disappointed, his eyes narrowed and his lips turned down. I’m not surprised. If our pictures are all over the internet, then I’m sure he knows the truth.

Or at least some twisted version of it.

He sighs, jerking his head toward the house. “Come in, let’s have a chat.”

I drive my car through the gates, parking in the circle driveway, hoping this goes quick so I can lick my wounds in peace. I thought things were finally slotting into place, when really, they were dangling on the edge of a cliff, waiting to tumble and smash on the concrete.

Being here hurts. Everything from the gold-framed pictures on the walls, to the expensive chandelier hanging from the ceiling reminds me that Blakely’s no longer mine.

I’m not sure if she ever was.

Mr. Donahue gestures for me to follow him inside and we walk down the hallway to his office in the back.

Everything is a dark cherry, bookcases lining the walls from floor to ceiling, and on the back wall, a gigantic glass case filled to the brim with awards.

It’s a fitting office for a king.

He sits in his chair, lighting up a cigar and watching me through the smoke. I stand straighter, refusing to cower under his gaze.

“You fucked my daughter.” His words are crass and they make my muscles tense.

I shake my head. “No, sir.”

“No?” His brows lift.

Snapping the hairband on my wrist, I walk forward, sitting down in one of the wingback chairs. “Well, yes,technically.”

His jaw tenses but he stays quiet, rolling the stogie between his lips.

“I fell in love with your daughter. And I’m sorry I did it behind your back. Believe me, I tried like hell to stop it, but there was nothing I could do. She’s... everything.”

Was.

My stomach churns, emotion swelling in the center of my chest. I push it down. I’ll have time to break later, when I’m alone.

He grunts. “My plan was to fire you. Kick your ass out of my shop and make sure your name never made it onto any credit. The bigger part of mestillwants to.”

Biting the inside of my cheek, I nod. I’ve been prepared for this moment. Countless hours have been spent weighing the pros and cons, figuring out what I’d do if I ended up blacklisted from Hollywood, unable to see my dad’s dream come to fruition. Sure, there’ve been some of my cars in movies. But none of that took the spotlight. Not like the upcoming feature film showcasing dozens of beauties, all handcrafted by me.

For Blakely, I would have given it all up. Gone back to flipping my own cars and finding peace in the fact that my dad would want me to be happy more than he’d want me to be alone and miserable creating fake shells for prop cars.

And as much as I love my father, I can’t keep living for a ghost.

“But,” Mr. Donahue continues. “You’re the best. And if you promise to stay away from my daughter, then I’ll let you stay on.” He smiles, like he’s giving me a gift.

Irritation at the audacity of everyone in Hollywood—everyone in this vapid, senseless town, drizzles through me, igniting the rage that’s been percolating underneath the remnants of my heart, waiting for its chance.

I shake my head. “Thank you, sir, but I think I’m good.”

His smile drops and he leans forward in his chair. “Excuse me?”

“I said, I think I’m good.”

He laughs, placing his cigar in the crystal ashtray to his right. “Son, I don’t know if you understand what it is you’re doing, but you’re ruining the chance of a lifetime.”

I shrug.

“This is all for some girl?” His fingers push against his head. “Think about this, kid.”

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